Just Business
by Hallows07
Summary: One-shots for Coulson, because i'm bored and feel he needs more love and attention. Most of them will be random interactions/situations with OCs at work and outside - not all will be romantic or the OCs all female. Avenger members may take part some time.
1. RecRoom

_This is a series of one-shots for Coulson, because I was bored and needed to write something despite my exams and reports due in this month. Sometimes you just need to chill and write for no reason really lol. I've got nine one-shots worked out for it, but if anyone wants any particular themes or whatever then just ask – message or review, whichever you prefer. These one-shots won't be nothing special, just quick things, though they may become more meaningful the more I write and the better I get at writing Coulson's character. Anyways, enjoy x_

**Just Business**

**One-Shot One**

"Oh, come on!" He heard, as he walked down the corridor. A loud sigh breached his ears.

He glanced behind himself, noticing the lack of people present. The hallways were practically deserted.

Shrugging, he sped up a little only to hear a huffing moan, "For goodness sakes. I've already been down this way!" The voice hissed with agitation.

A small grin grew upon his visage, "Lost, are you?" He queried loudly, trying to parch the smirk that threatened to clamber over his face as she jumped.

She span around to face him, glaring viciously at the ill-hidden smile, "Oh shut up you smug bastard!"

Forget the grin. He snorted and it echoed down the halls despite his hand trying to cover his beaming teeth.

She licked her lips, trying to smother her sneer and compose herself. "I'm sorry – sir… I jus-"

"It's okay," he told her with a wide smile, "Where are you trying to get, the dining hall?"

She shook her head, "No, it's packed in there. I'm looking for the rec-room."

His mouth opened with a silent _'Ah!' _of comprehension. She suddenly turned her eyes to a recruit that barrelled down the hall. They both split apart and against the walls, opposite one another to let the young lad pass them. He took a quick look of her.

Brown hair that seemed a little frazzled. She had large dark bags beneath her eyes and some Vaseline on her light pink lips. Not a natural beauty by any means, but definitely pretty… if she were to put in an effort.

She wore the typical uniform of a nurse, consisting of a light blue suit and name tag. However, she wore non-uniform items as well, such as a silver bracelet on her left hand. It was quite bland. No particular design. The skin of her right hand was dry, peeling slightly. He could not tell if this was due to overexposure to the sun, as her reddened nose would suggest, or if she merely needed to change her soap or adopt some hand moisturiser.

"I'll take you." He abruptly said, as her attention slowly reverted back to him. She stared, blinking up at him.

"Err… thank you…" She mumbled, bowing her head, as her cheeks flushed.

"Good," He said, suddenly standing straighter and moving passed her, "Follow me then."

She stared after him a moment, "Hmm… What an odd character."

"Are you coming, or not?" He called and she gasped, running after him.

"Hey!" She shouted back, "Stop walking so fast! I've not got your long legs mister!"

Coulson grinned again and ignoring her pleas, walked just a tad bit faster.

…

"So," She ventured, twiddling her fingers together anxiously as they walked through the air-ship.

"Yes?" He asked.

She twisted her neck to get a better look at him, "I'm Sarah." She told him.

For a moment he did not reply, but soon enough, "Coulson… you can call me Coulson."

She turned her gaze from him, staring at the grey floor with a slight pout.

No first name.

She could not fathom why he would not share his first name when she did so, so freely.

"You're careless." He said unexpectedly and her brown eyes became glued to his lips.

"What?" she glowered, her voice fizzing maliciously as she sensed an insult coming her way.

"You should not be so careless with your name Sarah…" He spared her a quick glance before turning his eyes forwards once more, "It could get you hurt."

She stared forwards as well, saying quietly, "Oh…"

"Which is your favourite?" He asked. She gave him another odd stare and after an awkward silence he understood, clarifying himself, "Which Avenger member is your favourite?"

She stuttered, "I-I don't… I don't know. I've never really thought on it."

"Mine is Captain America. He's always been my favourite hero – ever since I was little."

Sarah smiled slightly. She could hear the child in him surfacing through his tone of voice, but she wondered if he was genuinely trying to get to know her or simply make up for the lack of first name clarification.

"I've got a card collection from way-back-when and he's agreed to sign it for me." His teeth gleamed in the bright lights of the corridors, as he grinned.

Sarah laughed fondly, "He must be some guy…"

Coulson nodded a little, his eyes glazing over, "Yeah."

Sarah looked up at him thoughtfully. He seemed to be lost now. To an extent she hoped that this would not end with her further lost in the ship. On the other hand altogether though, she was extremely curious as to why someone that seemed so solid and certain of himself could be taken by the fairies by the mere thought of Captain America. His once straightened broad shoulders were a little slackened now and his lips twitched when what she could only assume to be a fun memory crossed his mind.

Coulson stopped and she almost tripped into him, "Well," he said, "Here you go."

She peered up at the sign, _'Rec-Room'_.

"Thank you, Cou-" As she turned, she found him gone. She turned further and found his back to her, as he walked down the same path they had previously taken.

She blinked, "What an intriguing man."

She shrugged away a shiver as she eyes drifted lower down to the point just below his dark jacket. She immediately averted her coy gaze though, licking her lips with great appreciation and opened the door to the rec-room.

"I should get lost more often." She mumbled with a cheeky smile…


	2. Bedtime

**Just Business**

**One-Shot Two**

As usual he found himself in the corner of the room, his eyes fixated upon the bar. The subject in question was downing his third Sambuka shot. Phil glanced down at his notebook:

_White Wine = III_

_Fruity Kopparberg = IIIIIII_

_Jack Daniels, blue Wicked and Coke = II_

_Archers and Lemonade = IIIII_

_Sambuka shot = III_

_Sex on the Beach Cocktail = I_

Sighing, he took a swig of his fresh orange juice.

He frowned. A young lady appeared by the suspect's side and leaned over the bar, ordering a drink no doubt as she handed over some money. Phil closed his notebook and watched, as the suspect spoke with her.

She scrunched her nose up in distaste, as the man leered. Phil rubbed his forehead, tightly shutting his eyes and willing the image away.

He would undoubtedly have his work cut out for him that evening.

He opened his eyes to find the pair arguing. The young lady snorted at something the man said and turned away from him. The man's eyes quickly drifted from the back of her head to her rather well-endowed backside.

Phil shook his head with disgust, though he himself could not help but take a quick glance. Her bottom was indeed pleasant. The white dress left little to the imagination and any man could see that her figure was well proportioned. She was not stick thin, no, but her curves were well placed and from the slight muscles peeking out in her unclothed arms and legs, she was clearly athletic as well. Overall, her body was a very lovely and somewhat rare sight to behold.

His brows furrowed, as he watched the bartender drop the lady's drink off. She did not turn to it immediately, attempting to shout to a friend whom stood by the door. The man, seeing this, dragged her glass towards him. Phil glared, unable to see what the man in question was doing with it. He had an idea though. He was no stranger to such actions. He had seen many of his suspects do similar things to their partners in crime, their victims and even their bosses on some occasions. He leaned back into the sofa, draping his arms over the back of it, watching.

The young lady's friend left. She turned to find her drink – most likely the last of the night by the unsteady sway of her hips, and took a hold of it. She practically inhaled it and flipped the man off, as he made a lewd comment. Phil's lips twitched with some pride, but it was short lived as her hand went to her head.

He watched on, as she clearly felt the immediate effects of the concoction. He was surprised to see her falling for it so quickly, but discarded the thought. Now was not the time to be wondering as to what drug was being used. She could sleep it off without a doubt – most people could if not overdosed. She obviously began to feel sleepy, as she leaned against the counter and held hard to the oak.

He got out of his chair and slowly made his way to the bar.

"You know," the man was saying, "A pretty thing like you shouldn't go home alone, darling. You don't look so good." He swallowed another shot of Sambuka, "Why don't I help you home?"

The lady shook her head viciously, her free hand reaching towards it again as the room began to spin, "Leave me alone." She incoherently mumbled, shaking a little.

The man took her shoulder within his hand and squeezed it, "Now sweethear-"

"Is there a problem here?" Phil inquired roughly, grabbing the man's hand and tearing it from the young lady.

"No!" The man told him firmly, ripping his hand from Phil's grasp, "I was just about to help my girlfriend home."

Phil chuckled, glancing at the lady, "Is this true miss, because from what I've seen tonight you've only just met this man," He turned to inspect the man, his cold eyes and broad grin peeling over the man's beard, wrinkled cheeks and scruffy clothing, "And you didn't seem to take to him kindly."

The young lady nodded, "No, I don't like him. I don't know him." She grasped Phil's arm, leaning away from the counter and into his side, "I want to go home. I don't feel well."

Phil nodded, "Very well miss. I'll escort you in a moment."

His gaze drifted over the remainder of the buildings occupants and three people lifted their drinks slightly in confirmation. He smiled a little, turning back to the man, "Good night sir."

The man sneered, "Whatever."

He muttered indignantly, shoving his empty shot glasses away and hobbling to the bathroom.

Phil jumped a little, as the young lady tripped over her high-heeled feet and bashed into him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, wildly attempting to grab her arms to steady her.

She nodded, more times than necessary and clutched his biceps. Her drowsy eyes widened slightly, "Oh," she exclaimed, her mouth falling open, "Wow." she blinked in surprise and looked up at him, "Wow… You are really well built!"

Phil laughed, "Come on," he said, "Let's get you home."

He rang his arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him, helping her walk to the door, "By the way, where do you live?"

She retorted with a cheeky remark about his taking advantage of her state and instead offered her phone number, but he politely declined.

"I live two blocks away, up Slewenth St." she slurred.

He almost groaned with great exasperation, murmuring, "Sure thing." He looked round at the lamp posts, hoping to spot a sign bathed in the orange light with _'Slewenth St.' _marked upon it, but instead found _'Seventy St.'_

He gritted his teeth together and hauled her in that direction, "You know this is sort of a team effort thing, right?" he complained, as she crumbled to her knees. Clearly she was a light weight or that drug was stronger than he assumed it to be.

"Nah," she moaned, "You're doing fine."

Phil barked out a whine, as her eyes closed and her breathing deepened, "Every time," He droned with irritation, "Every god damn time." He checked her small gold frilly purse for some keys and popped them between his teeth, curling an arm beneath her legs and lifting her up with a huff.

Once he had reached the street he dropped her feet to the pavement, hearing an awful crunch as her heels clacked against the cement. He cringed slightly, but discarded the issue, pulling the keys from his lips and looking at them.

He had to pull out his phone for some extra light, but he successfully found that the one of her keys portrayed white tape, reading: 110 A.

His eyes rose up and scanned the closest buildings. The darkness would only allow a few to be spied and whispered them to himself, "102, 104, 106…" all of which resided upon on one side of the street. The lamp posts towering nearby gleamed upon him and the un-named lady. He tightened his grip on her and returned his phone and the keys to their previous locations.

The keys jingled, as he moved, his teeth tightening their hold when the metal clashed with each step he took. The young lady grumbled in her unconscious state and shuffled round in his arms a little. Phil rolled his eyes, as he spotted 110. The front door was protected by a large accumulation of steep steps.

"Oh joy." He groaned behind the singing keys, his tongue hitting the cold metal ring that held them together.

He clambered up each step, the lady's head tucked into his neck. Her warm breath tickled him slightly. Light shined through the keyhole of the front door and Phil slowly lowered the young lady onto the top platform, leaning her back against the stone doorframe. As her bottom scrubbed against the freezing platform and the stones chilled her back, her eyes flickered beneath their lids.

Phil pried the keys from his mouth and forcibly jammed one into the door. It struggled to open and he had to smack his shoulder against the wood, but entry was gained. He flew past the threshold and into a hallway streaming with light. His eyes closed and he squinted up at the bright bulbs above, sighing with annoyance as he found more stairs waiting.

"A," he stated, "Surely it's not above."

The lady shuffled, her form falling against the platform with a thud. He looked down at her, "You really must have drank loads." He told her sleeping figure.

He tightened his expression and picked her up again.

He passed the first door and cringed as he noticed the letter _'F'. _He found a sign by the elaborate staircase and bit his lips, as he found apartment A to be on the top floor. It was just as he feared and worse still there was no sign of a lift. He would have to cart her up three flights.

"No, no way." He dropped her legs again and pushed her into the wall, "I'm not paid for this."

He tapped her cheek, commanding her to, "Wake up."

She grunted and smacked his hand away, but he insisted, shaking her a little, "Wake up!" He demanded more forcefully, "I am not carrying you up three flights lady. I may be a gentleman, but I'm not about to risk dropping you or accidently flinging myself over the railings."

She groaned again and her green eyes finally began to open a little, "I want to go to bed," she moaned, "I don't feel very well."

He grumbled as she hiccupped and swallowed deeply and for a moment he stood stock still, wondering if she was about to throw up on him. He hoped not, he was wearing his best suit.

When she raked her eyes over to the front door that still remained wide open she glared at it. He sighed, letting her go and walking towards it. He had to restrain himself from slamming it and merely tapped it shut with a quiet _'click'._

He turned back to her to find her sprawled on the floor again, snoring.

Phil took out his phone, some headphones and began scribing through a collection of ring tones, as he made his way back to her. He found one particularly loud one and fixed the headphones upon her small rounded ears.

She jumped! He eyes wide and mouth squawking. Her hands bashed at the sides of her head and pulled the cords of the headphones, "What are you doing?" She shouted at him, "Are you insane?"

He grinned, "Who really knows for sure?" He grabbed her hands and pulled her up onto unsure feet, "Now come along. You need to get to bed and I have to get back to work."

She gave him an odd look, "Work… you were in a bar."

He nodded, "Yeah, working."

She blinked at him, staring with confused eyes. Her dark brows were crossed and her nose twitched. He did not give her a chance to retort though and dragged her up the first couple of steps. She tumbled up them, but eventually they made it to her flat.

"A." Phil declared gleefully, dropping her wrist and inserting the key. He left the set in the door, as it opened.

He turned to her, "Now, can I trust that you can find your way to bed safely?"

She glanced up at him with dazed eyes, "Yeah, I suppose…" she bowed her head, emerald eyes attempting to focus on the patterned carpet beneath her heels, "Thank you." She quietly said, looking back up at him.

Phil gulped as her glittering sockets peered up at him. He prayed she was not about to cry on him. He could not handle a depressed drugged drunk above everything else.

She stepped forwards, towards him and he edged back against the wall, "Really," she insisted, "Thank you."

He turned his head away, as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, "I don't even know your name." she said.

He turned to her, shifting his head back slightly when he found her nose scraping against his own, "You never will." He blurted out, gently pushing her back. "Go to bed." He told her strictly, putting his hands into his pockets and stepping around her.

She turned to watch him traipse down the staircase with greater ease than he had all night.

He felt a lot lighter without her.


	3. Zzz COFFEE! zzZ

_I can honestly say that I don't know where this one came from. I don't think I even like it, but then I weren't fond of the first neither lol. It is quite random – definitely not planned, but oh well. That's what sleep deprivation will do to you I suppose. Does it show? BTW I don't like coffee. How do I know? I tried it today to encourage myself to wake up and get a little bit more energetic… didn't work :P Awful tasting stuff in my opinion. Anyway! Enjoy x_

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!"

Phil sighed.

The week passed by in his mind.

Monday:

He was up at four in the morning and on his way to Europe. Fury wanted tabs on a human that was displaying odd abilities.

He clambered onto the plane. Shield cheeped out on him and he had to ride with the public. At first he thought it would not be so terrible. A young lady was sat by the window, staring out of it as he took the middle seat right by her. Her blonde hair shined against the sun that poured through and the light pink gloss on her finely cared for nails gleamed. He spotted the book she was tightly gripping as well. It was one of his favourites. He grinned, almost clearing his throat to introduce himself to the most likely gorgeous doll when a roguish man tapped his arm, "Mate, do you mind if I sit by me boy?"

At first he was confused, but upon noticing the young lad stood behind the man Phil shook his head, "Nah, that's not a problem."

He thought it was over, but no.

The man moved forwards to let the boy pass him by and Phil staggered as he saw the boy sit by an elderly woman that hugged him close. He frowned, turning and moving away from the seats as he spotted it.

What he had hoped to be a lovely lady was in fact this man's 'boy'.

He shuddered slightly, but immediately composed himself as the couple turned to him.

"Are you sitting down?" The man asked with a smile. The blonde opened his book, brushing away from of his fringe from his green eyes.

Phil smirked, "Yeah, why not?"

It would be quite an experience…

Tuesday:

He was almost done in Italy and heading for France in two days. Hill had called with news of a murdering mutant. As usual, Phil drew the short straw and had to bring the thing in.

He had gotten no sleep on the plane and only one hour and a half on the bus to the hotel. He would have loved a holiday. Bathe in the sunshine, swim or mooch about bars, but the Italy was not what he pictured. He would rather be at home.

The sun was too bright, which did not aid his lack of sleep issue. The air was dry and choked him whenever he took a deep breathe. The food was good – no doubt, but the streets were littered with people and Phil disliked the tight space. The old buildings leaned over one another and cars ridiculously attempted to drive down the alleys that often struggled to take two scooters side by side.

He tore the hat off his head and wiped at his skull, grimacing at the sweat that dripped down the back of his neck and further still down the back of his suit. He could not wait to be gone.

Wednesday and Thursday:

He had preferred Italy.

Why would people ever eat frogs or snails? Better yet, why do the locals insist that he have these things with every meal he ordered? Even breakfast came with a complementary side of one or the other. If he did not know better Phil would think that someone had set him up. Every restaurant, café and even his villa neighbours felt the need to drive those things down his throat. He was certain now. He did not favour frogs or snails.

Still, it was much easier to chase down his target in France than in Italy. There were more open spaces in France and it was not as hot or dry. In fact it had been raining since he had gotten off the train.

After buying an umbrella and new clothes, he had gone to the last sighting of the beast and began investigating. The police were of little help and he found it difficult to hear the English words behind their accents. However, they themselves seemed to have the same issue with his.

He still had yet to get a proper nights rest. Since being up at four on Monday he had gotten three naps in between work (one whilst at work…). That was six hours and forty seven minutes in total.

Phil finally got some information, though it could not be conceived as creditable by any means. An English newspaper by the name of 'Sun', or something similar, had a column for the murders in France. It began with a joke about Sherlock Holmes and then moved onto Van Helsing, but about halfway through the column Phil found exactly what he required:

"_An eye witness from a nearby office building claimed to have seen the suspect at about one in the morning. He told police that the 'thing was just hanging round, climbing up the sides of the walls like they were monkey bars or something'. Officials say that the suspect in question is without a doubt 'human' and not to be considered otherwise. Other witnesses to similar murders in the area say that the 'thing isn't human' and 'it's out for blood'. Undoubtedly the killer made quite a mess last weekend, but no blood has since been seen… perhaps he was interrupted?"_

Phil chuckled, sipping a coke.

"Interrupted," He mumbled, "One in the morning…"

He sighed, lowering the can and chucking it into the nearest bin, "No rest for wicked." He groaned, folding the newspaper and waltzing back to his villa to prepare.

Friday:

Hill was getting frustrated with him and he, in turn, was getting stroppy with her. Phil had yet to catch another nap and had given up the coke, water and even milkshakes for coffee. He strived to find and take what coffee he could whenever he could. This comprised of about fifteen a day and he knew – just knew, that he was beginning to shake just a tad bit too much. Even his voice quivered. He felt jittery, but if it were not for the hype he knew he had then he would fall asleep. That was what he wanted, but he could not afford to lose.

The thing had run when he had missed the shot and fled to Britain. Hill was not impressed and even less impressed when she found that all he had had since Thursday evening was coffee. Not even food could satisfy him. Food made him tired. Coffee kept him awake. He needed to win. He needed to bring the murdering fiend in and coffee was the only way.

He stopped pacing the hotel room, staring out the window.

Perhaps he should invest in some food…

He shook his head. There would be time later – after he had caught the beast.

It was heading north and he wondered if it would attempt Scotland or Ireland. Either way the thing would be stranded.

His phone rang.

He had hoped it would be his taxi confirmation, but glancing out of the window immediately told him it was not. It could only have been Hill then.

He took it from his pocket and stared at her name, flashing across the screen.

He pondered letting the machine take it and listening only a moment later, but discarded that thought rapidly. She would kill him. He was paranoid enough to believe that she may even have had people watching him by that point. He had already snapped at her and her suggestion of having him return without the beast and sending another agent in his place had him worried.

Were they going to fire him? Could he be fired? Would he merely be 'taken care of' like in the movies in used to watch when he was little?

He glanced out the window again, as the ringing stopped.

Oh well. He would get it next time.

He didn't…

Saturday:

Scotland.

The thing had some intelligence then. Ireland would have been pointless. Not much other than wide open spaces and deep pit falls on either side.

Phil ploughed through the snow and grabbed the door of the café.

Coffee… he needed it. No longer was it for the energy though. He had slept the entire way from London to Scotland, by train and by coach. He was finally there and there was nowhere left for the thing to run. He had it cornered now. He grinned with satisfaction. This one last cup of coffee and he would have the murderer tied in the back of a private jet, be on his way back home.

As he ripped open the front door, the heat and light rushed over him. He quickly discarded his hefty coat on the nearest chair and stumbled towards the counter.

A young woman was before him.

She turned quickly with her own cup. His eyes were fixated on it. However, so were her own. Just as drawn to the coffee as he was, she did not notice him. She collided with his chest, the coffee splayed over his tie, shirt and suit and she gasped as some spilt upon herself as well.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" she exclaimed loudly. It attracted a bit of fuss from the few customers present, but otherwise it was quiet.

Phil silently cursed her. Still, he did enjoy the burning sensation. It was after all, freezing outside and his hands were numb, so it was lovely to feel something so warm, even if it were scolding him to the bone.

She hastily grabbed napkins and dabbed at his tie, "I am seriously so sorry. I have no idea why I wasn't paying more attention." She babbled, rubbing at his shirt and coughing back some tears.

He took notice of the tear stains upon her pretty visage and noticed the red dash on her top as well. Her purple jacket had pulled off her shoulder a little and conveyed a peach tank top beneath that was speckled with brown marks. His brows furrowed with disappointment, "I was expecting more after all those sleepless nights." He muttered.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice and her eyes widened with fear, "Oh," she whispered, "Oh my."

Horrified by him, she hurriedly took her hand from his chest and dropped the napkin to the floor, "How?" she gasped, a few tears breaking through her glossy blue eyes, "I didn't mean too!" she rushed to tell him, "I'm so sorry!"

He shook his head, "you're going to have to come with me miss."

She shook, "No, no – please! Please don't make me!" She began to shout hysterically and the three people eating their dinner turned to glare at them.

"Hey" the man behind the counter interrupted, "Take it outside, will ya?"

Phil nodded politely, grabbing her arm firmly and dragging her to the door.

"No!" She screamed, digging her heels into the tiled floor and shooting her panicked eyes towards the other customers, "Please! Please help! Please don't let him hurt me!"

By that time they had noticed the strained tank top, as the jacket fell further as Phil dragged her along. They were frozen.

Phil took out his identification badge, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is official police business." He tucked it away again after flashing it in their general direction, "Please," he emphasised, "Do not involve yourselves."

He left with her.

He never did get to taste the coffee in Scotland, but he won.

Sunday:

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.


End file.
